Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 284 The Battle of the Namers

He didn't come here to write stories.

He came to tear up the paper.

You have beliefs, you have names, you have mysteries.

But he lost all of that.

So he wants you to lose everything too.

"You think your beliefs are your weapon?"

Wang Yichen chuckled softly.

That laugh didn't resemble a human laugh; it was more like a disguised emotion pieced together from countless fragments of program logic and language, hollow yet precise.

He slowly raised his right hand, his fingers pointing directly at the heart of the God of Fate.

"Then I'll—burn it."

—

[Ability Activation: Life-type, High-level Affix, Devouring Flame]

The next moment, crimson flames erupted from Wang Yichen's body.

That wasn't the temperature of flames, but the temperature of thought and will.

That is the flame's "absorption" of faith.

He tore out the most solid part of the will of destiny—the fighting will constructed by the three roles of "Guardian," "Narrator," and "Weaver"—from the core of his spirit like a scripture.

Belief was stripped away and burned into nothingness.

Wang Yichen's body then underwent a transformation.

His back was spread out like a battle flag, revealing blood-red veins.

Each one was engraved with a set of vague spiritual runes: those were the remnants of the beliefs of those he had killed with his own hands, the "shroud of longing" that had been infused into his body.

Are you telling a story?

He chuckled softly, approaching step by step, his voice so low it was almost a whisper:

"I'm burning books."

As soon as he finished speaking, his figure flashed away, turning into a blur as he streaked through the air.

The next instant—he appeared directly in front of Si Ming.

His punches were like thunder.

Just as Si Ming finished his defensive stance, he was struck head-on by a blow, and his entire body was sent flying ten meters away, crashing heavily into the chessboard boundary of the Illusory Corridor.

The five chess squares broke off directly, like shattered glass, emitting a mournful sound.

With a furious roar, Serian transformed into flames, and the nine-tailed blood flames surged forth like a raging wave.

She charged straight at Wang Yichen, her trail of flame whipping around, almost burning the air into a curved surface—

But that strike missed.

Wang Yichen has disappeared without a trace.

In the distance, amidst the clouds and mist, a figure slowly solidified.

Wang Yichen stood in the void, his gaze gently falling on her, his eyes filled with an unsettling tenderness.

"You...he said that to you too, right?"

He gently raised his fingertips and traced them across the air.

A wisp of foxfire ignited, leaping between his fingers.

A card slowly emerged from the flames.

[Life-type Summoning - Eight-Tails Fallen God - Tamamo-no-Mae]

Crimson flames erupted.

The fox's shadow is like a wave.

A demonic cry ripped through the space, shattering the air.

A beautiful figure emerged from the flames, dressed in crimson robes, with stunningly beautiful features. Eight tails cascaded down like a celestial canopy, forming a fiery barrier that spanned the entire Destiny Seed Army formation.

She was like both a deity and a demon.

She doesn't smile, yet she commands respect; she doesn't get angry, yet she instills fear.

Tamamo-mae.

Within the mysterious system, there are very few life summoners that can approach the definition of "divinity".

She is not the card of the God of Fate.

It does not belong to Wang Yichen.

Selene's pupils dilated sharply.

She could feel the oppression emanating from divinity crushing her soul.

"That's... Tamamo-no-Mae?"

she muttered.

"But that's not his card—that's..."

"Minako's card."

Si Ming's voice followed, his expression showing shock for the first time.

Of course he remembered the card.

That was the absolute secret of the Mijinin family, bound to the genius girl Mijinin Minako, who had long since turned into a secret corpse.

Now, this card...

He was actually summoned by Wang Yichen.

"How could you—"

The God of Fate questioned him.

Wang Yichen simply spread his hands, his eyes still gentle, but they had been completely distorted into a morbid belief.

"how is this possible?"

He smiled softly:
"You really are a remnant of the old era."

His voice suddenly rose, as if he were cursing, or perhaps preaching:
"I am not a card holder."

"I am the ultimate template for card usage."

"I am Destiny Seed Number One."

"I am—a proto-human prototype born specifically to adapt to the mysteries of the Star Calamity!"

His finger pointed at Tamamo-no-Mae, who stood silently behind him, her nine tails burning like heavenly fire hanging upside down.

His voice suddenly turned deep:
"You use cards."

"I used the corpse of the card."

"You tell your story through fate."

“I speak through the throat of the dead.”

These words struck me like a hammer blow.

Selene struggled to maintain her willpower, but she already felt her consciousness being invaded layer by layer by the "Charm Shock," making her unstable and unable to launch the next round of attacks for a moment.

"You're really... insane."

She gritted her teeth.

Wang Yichen smiled slightly, as if he had finally waited for her to say those words.

"wrong."

"Crazy Thirteen is the one who's crazy."

"but me--"

He opened his arms wide, like a king, like a divine son, like a martyr who had fallen into the corruption of divinity:
"I am the only qualified character he wrote."

"I am the protagonist."

"He was chosen by him—the 'King of Fates'!"

He waved his hand sharply.

Tamamo-no-Mae moved with lightning speed, her eight tails suddenly bursting open, flames erupting like a chasm in the sky.

In an instant, the entire battlefront space was completely sealed off. The fiery barrier, like a woven net, intertwined layer upon layer, forcibly separated Siming and Selian.

The sound waves were blocked, the air suddenly became silent, and even breathing seemed to be frozen by the flames.

Si Ming subconsciously tried to activate the "Corridor of Emptiness" to construct a new illusory realm, but the light patterns had just appeared when they were forcibly delayed by an extremely strong rule interference.

The system feedback exploded in his mind:
[World-type affix activated: The Only Battlefield]

The next moment, Wang Yichen's voice came from the high sky where flames intertwined, as cold and sharp as the pen of an interrogator:

"Within my rules."

"You—can't tell stories."

Foxfire surged, the blazing flames twisting into an oddly colored "Amaterasu Reverse Flame," like a dawn burning backwards.

The eight-tailed fallen goddess walked on fire, each step treading on a world whose meaning did not belong to her.

But her footsteps weren't treading on the ground; instead, they were stepping on—the words of the God of Fate.

She was slowly crushing his ability to express himself.

Inside the illusory corridor, the illusory images of "Destiny Master" that were originally arranged on the edge of the chessboard began to flicker violently, like reflections in water shattered by rain, and even the "fuzzy outline of existence" was rapidly dissipating.

Si Ming's expression changed slightly. Just as he was about to reconstruct a new narrative path, a familiar yet unfamiliar voice suddenly rang in his mind.

It is Irostia.

The whispers of the secondary, mysterious personality are like warning words surging from the depths of the soul:

"Your rhythm... has been written by him."

“You are not the narrator…you are trapped between the pauses, your breath caught.”

"Your next sentence will be late."

Si Ming's fingertips trembled slightly, and her movements froze.

He felt he was about to speak, but no sound came out for a long time.

It's not that language is blocked, but rather that the entire narrative space has been forcibly inserted with "alternative language passages".

In that instant, the entire illusory realm trembled violently, and a ring of vibration patterns, barely visible to the naked eye, spread out from the bottom of the realm, like the traces of text being torn and barely pieced back together.

At the boundary of the consciousness of the God of Fate, an invisible, gray-white talisman slowly emerged.

That's not his structure.

That is—others' rules are covering the pages he has written.

—

Wang Yichen reached up, and a broken yet reconstructing mantra wheel emerged from his palm.

The undying identification code burned along the edge of the mantra wheel, causing the air to vibrate, like the teeth of a mechanism clicking and rattling—

[World Domain - The Only Battlefield]

"On this stage, only one beat is allowed to play."

Siming frowned, and Irostia's voice grew clearer in his mind, with an almost icy precision in her enunciation:

"He...stripped you out of the main storyline."

“You are the narrator, but now—you are like an interrupted narrator.”

The God of Fate attempts to unleash a new round of illusions in order to break the deadlock.

However, every thought seemed to be pressed into a layer of viscous air—heavy, sluggish, and full of noise.

He felt as if he were in a book he couldn't turn the pages of.

His ideas were like falling into tar; every word needed to be torn apart to emerge. The puzzle was not yet complete, and the words were already shattered.

The words welled up from my heart, but collapsed when I spoke them.

—

Meanwhile, Wang Yichen was closing in step by step.

Its pace was slow, yet like a pendulum, it constantly encroached upon the domain of the God of Fate.

"You'll find that the most lethal attack isn't a knife." "It's—making you unable to continue speaking."

He leaned slightly forward, looking down at Si Ming, his tone as soft as a whisper:

"You're not dead."

"You are simply—'unable to express yourself'."

This sentence was like a muffled thunderclap.

Si Ming suddenly looked up, his expression stern.

He never imagined that one day he would not be killed, but rather silenced.

Pulled from the sea of ​​language, forced into silence.

At this moment, he is not a defeated warrior.

He is—the storyteller whose pen has been torn off.

On the other side, Selian's blood flames surged back like a tide, the crimson flames churning in the air like a vortex of fury.

She gritted her teeth, trying to break free from the "bewitching interference" imposed on her by Tamamo-no-Mae.

But those fallen fox eyes trembled slightly, projecting a strange phenomenon.

—Siming, the image of the dead.

That's not reality.

Rather, it was the scene deepest in her heart that she least wanted to see.

He fell before the bridge, blood everywhere, his figure receding into the distance, with no one to take his place.

For a moment, Celian's mind went blank, and her steps faltered slightly.

"You're afraid he'll die."

Tamamo-no-Mae spoke, her voice low and soft, like a night breeze brushing past the ear.

"Then you shouldn't look at him anymore."

This phrase, like a spell, seeped into the deepest part of my consciousness.

Selene suddenly realized—she couldn't see Si Ming's face clearly anymore.

He was clearly standing there, clearly still fighting, but in her eyes he seemed blurred, his face erased, leaving only an outline.

“Serian!”

The voice of the God of Fate was like a thunderclap, but it seemed to fall to the bottom of a lake, choked by the waves, leaving only a vague vibration that rippled through the heart.

Irostia's voice followed immediately, whispering from the depths of her consciousness:
"You are not silent."

“You were forced to become a ‘silent character’.”

"You are not a failure."

"You have been replaced as a bystander."

—

In the center of the chessboard, Wang Yichen walked slowly like a puppeteer.

Each step he took was like a page changer propelling the plot forward. He walked slowly, yet unstoppably, the black and white checkered patterns shattering beneath his feet, like pages being torn off.

He stood at the very center of illusion, looking down at the God of Fate, his voice calm, as soft as a dream:

“I used to have nothing.”

"So now, I'm going to make you—unable to write anything."

He slowly raised his right hand.

The Amaterasu Flame rose in his palm; its light was not pure fire, but a reverse-narrative energy so intense it could burn through the storyline.

The eight tails trembled.

Flames swept across, tearing the air into layers of gaps.

A sun disc, hanging upside down in the sky, crimson gold, like the burning tip of a divine pen—is about to rewrite the back cover of this world.

【Ultimate Term: Sun Reversal】

He announced in a low voice, his tone like a chisel carving into a woodblock:

"All the endings you described will happen in reverse right now."

His eyes burned with an almost obsessive light, and a cold smile appeared on his lips:
“This time—listen to me.”

The Amaterasu Flame erupted behind him, its fox flames like eight blood-red divine destiny scrolls, swirling, spinning, and shattering in the air before finally coalescing into an inverted crimson celestial map.

That was the "fire of reverse writing".

It doesn't create stories; it devours the future that's already written and rewrites it.

At the center of the sun's wheel, lines of palindromes emerge:

It's not words and phrases—it's the reversal of the endpoint of the "narrative structure".

That doesn't change the plot.

That would subvert the legitimacy of the "next sentence".

Si Ming's pupils contracted sharply, and he was startled.

He suddenly realized:

"He wants to—alter the last sentence I said."

That sentence, before it could even be uttered, had already been invaded.

Wang Yichen had already burst into laughter, his laughter filled with determination, madness, and an uncontrollable sense of victory.

"You're telling the story of 'we survived'."

He spoke as if addressing heaven and earth, or as if delivering the final blow to the deepest faith of the God of Fate:

"Then I'll say it—you are dead."

The Amaterasu Flame crashed down.

The corridor of illusion trembled, and the domain of the God of Fate was collapsing.

The mouth that tells stories has been sealed.

Next, the voices of the deceased will tell the ending they wanted to hear.

Wang Yichen suddenly swung his right hand down.

The sun suddenly crashed!

The crimson-gold divine wheel, hanging upside down in the sky, roared down like the remnant of a celestial body that had burned out, carrying a destructive will.

A beam of blazing golden flame pierced straight through the sky and core of the illusory corridor, like the finger of a god, forcibly rewriting the theme of the story.

The moment the golden flames pierced through, the heavens and earth trembled violently.

The entire realm of illusion trembled violently, as if every page of the narrative text had been burned and rearranged.

The black and white checkerboard began to collapse, and what emerged from the cracks was not light of data, but traces of a deleted and altered narrative.

Hundreds of illusory "fate-keepers" were crushed into nothingness by the flames of the sun, like paper figures in the wind or mirror images in a dream.

They crumbled one after another, like character annotations erased by a divine hand, deleted stroke by stroke, returning to silence.

The core of the domain was violently torn apart!

In an instant, Si Ming coughed up blood, felt a sharp pain in his chest, and staggered.

He was forcibly detached from the "narrative coordinates".

And Celian—she's still on the field.

But the next second, her expression changed drastically, and she knelt down.

Her body convulsed and rolled uncontrollably, as if her own flames were beginning to burn her.

Her mental trajectory—forcedly pulled by the reversal of the sun's rotation—is entangled in the turbulent currents of "Voices of Naming from Beyond the Realm."

It was a marginal wilderness where there was no belonging, no context, and no right to narrate.

She coughed up blood, but still didn't back down an inch.

“I know…you’re there.”

She whispered, using all her strength to look at the blurry figure.

Even if... I can't see you.

Si Ming forced himself to stand up.

But he felt that his body was like a "script that had been repeatedly revised," and every wound was not just a physical tear.

Instead, the "negated sentences" were repeatedly modified, torn apart, and rewritten on his body.

Before he could even speak, Irostia's voice, urgent as an alarm, filled his mind.

"The reversal was too strong..."

“The gaps in the false words have been broken, and the current logical channels cannot heal themselves.”

"You either abandon this story... or—finish it with your blood."

Si Ming gripped the card tightly, his hand trembling.

At that moment, he finally understood:
Wang Yichen's attacks were never physical harm.

Rather, it is a "negation of the narrative itself".

—

Wang Yichen laughed loudly, his voice exploding in the collapsing space, like a spell, a judgment, or the final chapter of a typewriter.

"You were not the one who named it!"

"I'm!"

"Every name, every fate, every ending you speak of—you must first ask me if I allow it!"

He stepped onto the land of fate's retreat.

With each step, the text beneath the chessboard is covered, and the light gradually fades away.

The sun revolved behind him, like a burning crown of divine consciousness, illuminating for him the "path to the destruction of language".

He raised his hands.

“I’ll do it right now—rewrite your story.”

"I'll tell everyone—"

"The storyteller is nothing more than a footnote in someone else's writing!"

He roared, swung his arm back, and the sun reversed!

The crimson-gold light surged like a burst dam, overwhelming everything and scorching the last glimmer of light in the domain of fate.

The light of the end descends.

As the crimson waves were about to recede, Si Ming suddenly smiled—a smile that was blood-red, yet clean and swift.

He looked up, his voice as low as a will, yet as resolute as an epitaph.

"Then give it a try—"

"Write about me, on the last page."

—

The next second, light explodes!

The world shook!

The fiery currents of the sun collided violently with the illusory afterglow, exploding into intertwined reverse energy flows and domain particles. The chessboard-like ground collapsed like a sand sculpture, and the cracks spread like a spider web to the edge of the entire battlefield!

Fire and fiction resound together, grammar and power clash.

In an instant, no one could see the battle situation clearly.

It's also unclear whether the story is still going on.

Sometimes, the story shouldn't end.

It shouldn't be reversed either.

It was just pulled away.

It pulls us into a new chapter yet to be written.

You thought you had finished writing about him?

But maybe—he hasn't even started talking about you yet.

(End of this chapter)